


chase it

by pipecleanerFlowers



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-13 09:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3376295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipecleanerFlowers/pseuds/pipecleanerFlowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Alit crashes through the doors of the BARian, it can only mean one of two things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this was supposed to be like. Short. And it's not... so. Three-shot in the works yo.

Alit crashes through the doors of the BARian, wide grin spread across his face, and practically bounces toward the bar.

“I have a _brilliant_ idea!” he announces proudly, and Durbe already wants to break out the Advil.

“And what idea would that be, Alit?” Durbe asks, pushing his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose in a weak attempt to halt the oncoming headache that will no doubt follow from this.

Every day for the past week, Alit has had some brilliant idea or another in order to fulfill his initiation rites as an official employee, and none have been all that good at all. In fact, this one is probably about as terrible as yesterday’s, when Alit suggested they start serving beer cocktails (“Because liquor can be mixed, so why can’t _beer_??”).

Alit slams his hands dramatically on the counter. “We have milkshakes on the menu, right?”

“Yes, we do,” Durbe says duly, being the helpful, attentive, stand-in boss while Nasch is off doing who knows what with his new boyfriend overseas because impromptu vacations are _so_ romantic (but Durbe can’t bring himself to hate Nasch’s boyfriend, and relationships with coworkers are statistically said to end awfully so it doesn’t matter, Yuma really doesn’t matter, he’s totally over Nasch, everything is fine).

The rest of the crew are staring curiously in their direction now: Merag, who’s checking all of the bottles to make sure they’re stocked up for the night; Gilag, who’s rearranging the tables for best game-night viewing of the televisions set up around the establishment; Mizael, who’s putting up new promo posters; even Vector, who has kicked his feet up on a table in some dark, reclusive corner just to ignore his duties and read Playboy magazines.

Durbe sighs.

“Well, what if we added alcohol to them?” Alit asks, and while Durbe knows it’s rhetorical and that there’s an explanation to come just like there has been every other night, his urge to just scream _NO_ is high. Alit plows on when his dramatic pause isn’t interrupted: “Alcohol and ice cream can mix, right? I mean, White Russians have cream in them, so it’s probably not _impossible_ or like, _gross_ or anything? Instead of flavoured syrup we can use the blue stuff we put in Purple Rain’s or something?”

“That’s great, Alit, but we don’t have time to make any tests to see if it’s even viable right now, considering we’re opening in less than an hour,” Durbe says, as calmly as he can (which, to his merit, is pretty calm). “I’d rather not have us all drunk by the time we need to open.”

“But, we can try it?”

Durbe vaguely remembers Valentine’s Day, when Alit suggested replacing the marshmallows in their renowned hot chocolate with those heart candies with the cutesy sayings on them. Well, this can’t be as bad as that idea…

“Yes. Just not right now.”

Alit somehow manages to hug him tightly, even over the wide counter. “Thank you!!” he says, before pulling away and blinding Durbe with his smile.

Durbe can’t wait till Nasch gets back and has to deal with Alit, the BARian’s personal ball of unending, enthusiastic energy.

\+ + + + +

 _At least his tips are good,_ Durbe thinks, when everyone piles their tips onto the counter at three in the morning, when the bar has emptied out.

Alit’s pile is easily the biggest, and Durbe’s always put it down to his charm (the charm Alit turns up whenever he’s serving cute customers, like the green-haired girl at table seven who he ended up doing a couple shots with. He ended up with her number scrawled in pink lipstick on a napkin).

Mizael’s tips come in a close second tonight, as Durbe spots a crisp green twenty in his pile and wonders what he did to get his hands on that.

“Okay, let’s count it up and split for the night,” Durbe says, starting to sort the tens from the twenties, the toonies from the loonies, and everything inbetween.

Mizael yawns. “Ugh, can you stop assigning me to that awful section? That asshole showed up again with his friends and--”

“But that asshole likes you if your tip from him says anything about it,” Alit says, teasing. “I saw him slip you a twenty.”

Mizael’s shoulders hunch up. “No way, he’s _gross_.”

“That’s not what you said--” Vector starts slyly, but Mizael angrily cuts him off.

“What I say when I’m drinking has no real value, so you can shut up,” he says hotly.

“Even if we moved you to a different section, he’d just move to that section, so either you reject him next time he comes in, or you turn up the charm for tips,” Durbe says matter-of-factly, too tired to deal with drama when there’s a cozy bed waiting for him to crash into in his apartment.

Mizael’s ears turn red, hands curling into fists. Alit just laughs, patting him on the back.

“Should I give you some love advice?”

“Fuck off.”

\+ + + + +

On Sundays, the bar is closed, but everyone shows up to the bar at precisely seven at night anyway because Alit is adamant about trying to figure out a recipe for alcoholic milkshakes. Durbe wishes he could pull a Vector and skip out, but he is a nice stand-in boss -- and a responsible one, too (unfortunately).

He can tell Merag is only here to watch the idea crash and burn (like the rest of Alit’s bad ideas that Durbe is too nice not to entertain because at least he’s making an effort). Gilag, however, is here to support his best friend in his quest to find the perfect recipe.

When they’re all inside, huddles around the bar, Durbe does a headcount. Yep, everyone but Vector.

“Okay, you’ve got the floor Alit. Let us have it.”

Alit just grins. “Sure thing, boss!” he says, before launching into his proposal. “So. Alcoholic milkshakes should totally be a thing. They’re already amazing, but they could be even more amazing with some booze in ‘em, right? I mean, we’re a bar so why not?”

There’s a murmur of assent and Gilag enthusiastically nods.

“So! I actually found a whole _list_ of recipes for alcoholic milkshakes on the internet, and I _know_ anything new we add to the menu has to be a BARian original, or our rep goes down, but like? We can always change them up to taste better, right? So,” Alit pulls out a notebook from his messenger bag, “I was thinking we start with the milkshake base we’re known for and then go from there trying to recreate these?”

Durbe’s… actually impressed. Alit has a game plan for this that isn’t just winging it.

“Alright, sounds like we have our work cut out for us then,” Durbe says. “What one did you want to start with?”

“There’s one that uses Nutella that I thought could be a cool twist on the traditional chocolate milkshake we already have,” Alit suggests, and Merag’s eyes light up.

“ _Nutella?_ ” she asks incredulously. “Let’s do it!”

Three hours pass, and so far they have three winners and five losers. Gilag’s already tapped out for the night on taste-testing because even though he’s a big guy, his tolerance is an in-joke between them all, and no one blames him when he takes out his D-Gazer to call a taxi home.

Merag’s the next to go, because she’s tired and she promised to meet with a friend bright and early for breakfast in the morning and if she keeps going, she’ll sleep soundly right through her alarm (and the backup alarm, and the backup backup alarm…).

Mizael leaves soon after, claiming that this is the one night he has without a stupid night schedule to ruin his beauty sleep.

And then it’s just Durbe and Alit, surrounded by empty glasses.

“Heyyy,” Alit slurs, having enjoyed their version of the peach, cinnamon, and bourbon milkshake a bit too much (and yeah, that had made the cut too). “Do you--” he hiccups, “--wanna keep going? Or turn in?”

Durbe shrugs. His tolerance has always been higher than the rest, for some reason (and he doesn’t drink nearly enough to justify the world’s logic on this), so he’s fine to keep blending and testing, but Alit looks like he’s about to fall off his chair.

“You can stop if you want. Go home, I’ll clean up.”

“Nah, let’s… let’s share a cab,” Alit says with a wide yawn. “My place is on the way to your apartment, right?”

Durbe can’t argue with that.

Alit sits at the bar as Durbe cleans up, rinsing out the glasses and leaving them to dry. The blenders have all been soaking, so just a swish of soapy water manages to get the rest out, and it’s not long before he’s propping the chairs back on top of the tables as Alit calls the cab company.

The cool chill of summer nights hits them when they step outside, waiting on the streets for the cab. Alit leans against Durbe, and he puts it down to the kid being tired and tipsy.

“You alright?” Durbe asks anyway.

“Yeah, yeah…” Alit responds. “Just tired.”

It comes to absolutely no one’s surprise that Alit ends up falling asleep on Durbe’s shoulder in the cab. And Durbe doesn’t trust the cabbie enough to take a sleeping Alit home, so he ends up hauling his ass up the stairs (the elevator is perpetually broken) and into his apartment.

Durbe half wonders when Nasch will be back to deal with this kind of stuff so he won’t have to.

He almost wonders when Nasch will stop being so googly-eyed over Yuma and come back from wherever they went.

He stops himself.

And then throws Alit in a heap onto the couch.

“You’re sleeping here tonight,” he says, when Alit groans, and his eyes flutter open, groggy and tired.

“Oh… okay.”

That was easy.

Durbe searches the house for blankets and manages to find one to throw over Alit before he heads into his bedroom and turns in for the night.

“Goodnight, Alit.”

“Goodnight Durrrrbe.”

\+ + + + +

The morning after is awkward. This is because Alit is in the kitchen making pancakes, and they didn’t even sleep together (but then again, while Alit has all the flirting experience in the world, Durbe doubts he knows this is a stereotype of lovers everywhere. He’s too painfully innocent).

“Morning!” Alit greets cheerily -- much too cheerfully for someone who’s supposed to have at least a minor hangover, Durbe notes.

“Morning,” Durbe croaks back.

He didn’t even know he _had_ the ingredients for pancakes.

“You hungry? I made breakfast,” Alit says, as if it wasn’t crystal clear by the way the entire house smells like someone’s been cooking up a storm.

“Yeah,” Durbe says, if only because telling Alit he normally doesn’t eat breakfast (skips it most days entirely, in fact) will probably get him a lecture about healthy eating (and Alit’s just as much of an expert on that as he is on flirting technique).

They sit at the tiny breakfast bar and eat together before Alit quickly takes his leave, thanking Durbe for letting him crash on his couch.

When Durbe’s apartment door clicks shut, he realizes Alit left him a pile of dishes to do.

_Great._

\+ + + + +

Durbe gets voicemail from Nasch that same day.

“ _Hey, still in the States with Yuma. Everything’s been amazing so far. Just checking in to see how the BARian is doing? I heard from Merag that Alit had some new ideas for the menu, I guess there’ll be some stuff to taste test when I get back? Anyway, we’re about to leave for another tour, so I’ll call you again later._ ”

It kinda feels like a stab to the heart, but Durbe deletes the message, doesn’t plan on calling back, doesn’t plan on answering the next call if he happens to hear his phone ring when it happens.

It’s not the silent treatment when Nasch literally dumped the business on his shoulders while he went on a vacation with his spontaneous, cute boyfriend.

Maybe if he takes off his glasses… No, no, Durbe can’t even see what he looks like without them. That was a terrible idea.

He huffs out a breath.

Whatever.

He’s over Nasch.

\+ + + + +

“Do you ever call those numbers?” Mizael asks that night when Durbe’s splitting the tips.

“Ah, no? I don’t,” Alit says, to literally everyone’s surprise as he drops napkins with girl’s numbers on them into the nearest bin.

“You _don’t_?” Merag asks, appalled.

“Er, no. I don’t really see the point?” Alit says with a shrug. “And… I’ve already got my eye on someone.”

He exchanges a look with Gilag, and Mizael and Merag both catch on immediately. “Who is it??” they ask Gilag simultaneously.

Gilag, being the best bro in the world that he is, doesn’t answer no matter how many times they ask or bribes he gets offered.

Vector rolls his eyes. “Who cares who he has a crush on? I’m more interested in why you haven’t given someone your V-card yet,” he says nonchalantly, and this new information sends Mizael and Merag into another tizzy. Vector smirks.

Durbe hands them all their stacks and wonders when their love lives will stop being so interesting, because it’s only a matter of time before Vector drops the hint that Durbe likes ( _liked_ ) Nasch.

He sighs. “Alright, go home, sleep, see you tomorrow night.”

“ _Tonight_ ,” Mizael corrects, “since it’s already tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is when you wake up, nerd,” Vector says, and Durbe figures it was supposed to sound scathing (but he mostly just sounds exhausted).

\+ + + + +

Tomorrow happens, so does the night after, and the night after that. Alit keeps racking up tips, and Durbe wonders why they didn’t hire him sooner, when the business first opened (but then he remembers that Alit is the youngest and he only just turned eighteen while he and Nasch have been in their twenties for a while).

Durbe gets home to another voicemail from Nasch and he presses delete before the recording even finishes the first sentence of it.

He doesn’t want to hear it.

Not when he’s been abandoned to take care of four idiots plus Nasch’s sister, Merag.

The phone starts ringing again, but he doesn’t really care to answer it and lets the machine get it.

“ _Hey! It’s me, Alit. I was just wondering when Nasch would be back so we can confirm those new menu options! I’m stoked to see the reception. Anyway, good night! I hope you have awesome dreams and stuff!_ ”

\+ + + + +

Durbe spends the day at the print shop, reprinting new menus complete with the three new milkshakes Alit got them all to create. Even though Nasch hasn’t given his approval yet, it seems like he won’t be back for a while anyway. So, as the official stand-in boss, he takes initiative.

Maybe then he won’t have to give Alit an answer.

\+ + + + +

Alit’s reaction is priceless and Durbe ends up in a bone-crushing hug.

\+ + + + +

At the end of the night, they stay late after closing to celebrate the new menu. Vector only stays because there’s booze involved, because he really wasn’t a part of the team effort, but Durbe figures it’s a victory for all of them anyway.

“Hey, you finally passed initiation!” Merag says, smacking Alit on the back enthusiastically, cheeks already pink from her fifth shot (because Vector challenged her, and neither of them ever back down).

Alit just laughs, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. “Thanks!” he says, a small smile on his face.

Small smiles don’t suit him, Durbe thinks.

“You’ve officially made your mark here,” Durbe says, raising his glass as per tradition. “To alcoholic milkshakes.”

“To alcoholic milkshakes!” They all echo back before dissolving into drunken giggles.

\+ + + + +

Maybe deciding to drive them all back was a bad idea. Not because Durbe was drunk, or even close to it (because two sips into his glass, he decided his embarrassing people-mover of a vehicle could fit them all in and hey, he hasn’t had to play designated driver in a while), but rather because by starting with the farthest first, he ends up alone with Alit again.

Alit, who has fallen asleep curled up on his passenger seat.

He turns down the crackling radio and wonders whether he should just let Alit borrow his couch instead of heading down to his campus dorms (because Durbe doesn’t know which building he lives in, never mind the floor and room number, and he doesn’t trust Alit to get there by himself).

(Nor does he want to wake him up.)

So Durbe ends up pulling into the parking lot of his building, shutting the engine off, and carefully poking Alit till he’s awake enough to carry himself up the stairs.

“Am I staying over again?” he asks, when his eyes flutter open and he looks through the windshield and realizes this isn’t Heartland University.

“Yeah, if that’s okay.”

“Sure! Sleepovers are cool.”

_Sleepovers._

He really is a child.

Durbe just sighs and throws him a blanket and directs him the to couch.

“If you get hungry, there should be stuff in the fridge? Anyway, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, beautiful.”

It’s muffled by the way Alit burrows himself into the couch and Durbe pretends he didn’t hear it at all (because he’s too busy ignoring the blinking answering machine, wishing Nasch would tell him that).

\+ + + + +

Alit’s gone in the morning, before Durbe even wakes up. But he leaves a sticky note on the kitchen counter scrawled in his messy handwriting:

“ _thank you for letting me stay over!! <3 have a super awesome day k”_

So Durbe does himself a favour and unplugs his answering machine. Super awesome day it is.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> durbe doesn't know how to deal with anything anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still don't know what I'm doing but here's a whole 'nother chap!
> 
> enjoy :3

Alit crashes through the doors of the BARian, wide grin spread across his face, and practically bounces toward the bar.

“I have a _brilliant_ idea!” he announces proudly, and Durbe wonders if this will be as catastrophic as the last time they did this (but it ended pretty well, so maybe he shouldn’t complain).

“And what would that be?” Durbe asks as Alit sits down and spins around on one of the barstools.

“Karaoke night! Like, once a week, we could have karaoke night!” Alit says, slamming his hands on the counter and stopping the spin. Durbe thanks the ceiling because he was starting to get dizzy.

“Karaoke,” Durbe says dryly. “And how do you suggest we implement this into a bar that barely has floorspace for my waiters to move through the tables when it’s busy?”

Alit’s grin doesn’t drop, and that’s dangerous because it means he’s thought this through properly. All eyes are on him now, and Durbe can hear Merag’s heels clicking toward them.

“Karaoke?” she asks before Alit can launch into his explanation. “Like the kind they have at arcLight’s?”

“Er? Actually yeah! I figured it would be fun.”

Merag’s hands land on Alit’s shoulders. “You mean you’ve been to the enemy’s lair?” she asks, and Durbe supposes she’s trying to be intimidating. Alit just laughs.

“Once,” Alit answers truthfully. “My friends dragged me out because they wanted to do karaoke. So? I figured we could do it too, because it was between there and here, and here didn’t have karaoke. We do have better drinks, though. It’s a good idea right?”

Durbe thinks this over for a moment, catching Merag’s eye. “Well, I guess we could think about it. Run it by Nasch,” he says.

Merag frowns. “But then we’ll be playing their game! We should think of something different.”

Mizael, who at some point joined their little circle, nods in agreement. “Kaito said he stopped going there because most of those drunk voices trying to sing were annoying as fuck. Plus the owner’s apparently a sleaze.”

Alit punches him in the arm. “You’re talking to him! That’s awesome!”

Mizael’s frown drops into a scowl as he rubs his arm. “So? He gives me nice tips.”

“Need flirting advice now?”

“I think I’m doing just fi--”

“Guys,” Durbe interrupts. “Can we please focus?”

Alit snaps back on track, thinking for a moment before: “Then… what about open mic nights? Like, for anything.”

“Meaning what, exactly?” Durbe asks before Merag can shoot him down again.

“Slam poetry, rap, singing, instruments…” Alit suggests. “Like, I know a coffee shop on Leviath that does that, and that’s on the other side of the city so… We could do it too and bring in this side’s crowd?”

“That’s not actually a bad idea,” Durbe says.

Merag and Mizael murmur their assent. “Yeah, not bad knucklehead,” Merag says, swiping him over the head. Alit laughs again.

Durbe sighs. “At any rate, I’ll look into it. We’ll still need to somehow make space to do that, so we might run into some issues there. I’ll run it by Nasch. Focus on setting the tables for now.”

“Yes, sir!” Alit says, mock-saluting him as he spins around and hops off the stool and they all return to their duties to get ready for the night.

\+ + + + +

When Mizael finally joins them at the bar as the last customers (Kaito and his friends) leave, his face is bright red.

“Sup Miza?” Alit asks, poking his cheek.

Vector smirks. “Yeah, _sup Miza_.”

“Nothing,” Mizael answers too quickly, and the whole crew, minus Durbe who’s busy cutting tips, “ooooohhhhhh’s” at him.

“It’s totally not nothing,” Vector says slyly. “I mean, Kaito just left you with a nice little gift, didn’t he? A nice little gift right on your--”

“Shut up!”

Vector cackles.

“So did you get his number?” Alit asks with a grin.

“Did you get _your_ crush’s number?” Mizael throws back, but then Vector’s peeling open Mizael’s fist to reveal a number scrawled in black ink across his palm.

“Hey, would you look at that,” Vector laughs, holding out Mizael’s hand. “He got Kaito’s number!”

Mizael snatches his hand back and shuts it tightly into a fist. “Fuck you.”

“So you _do_ like him! Congrats, Miza!” Alit says, smacking him on the back. Gilag echoes the sentiment and Merag’s already betting with Vector on what night Mizael will leave with his cute regular.

\+ + + + +

“How do you normally get home at three in the morning?” Durbe asks one night when they’re all leaving the BARian together for once.

Merag’s already in her car, with Vector calling shotgun as he slides into the passenger seat of her beat-up sedan. Mizael always calls a taxi, because it comes out of the bar’s bill and not his paycheque (but he always complains, because the cabbies are always creepers, or at least he says they are). Gilag’s close enough to walk home, and big enough for it not to be an issue, but then there’s Alit.

“Ah, I ride my bike?” he says, pointing over to the racks where a bright red bicycle is locked in.

Durbe stares at him. “You ride your _bike_ ,” he repeats slowly.

He knew there was a reason he was against hiring Alit (but Nasch blew him off and did it anyway, right on his eighteenth birthday, saying it was a gift and throwing caution to the wind). Not that he regrets Nasch’s decision, because Alit’s a hard worker and brings in hefty tips, and he’s good for business, but. A student with no car.

A _bike_.

“I’m driving you home,” Durbe hears himself say. “Hop in.”

“What about my bike?”

“Throw it in the back. There’s room for it.”

“Uh. Okay.”

Durbe digs his keys out of his pocket and starts up the engine, flicking the AC on because the night’s humid and he’s already broken out into a sweat. The trunk of his people-mover opens up and Alit manages to fit his bike into it before running around the side and climbing into the passenger seat.

“You sure? I mean, it’s farther down than your place. Want some gas money?” Alit asks, pulling out the split of his tips from tonight. “How much?”

Durbe just waves it off. “Don’t worry about it. My payment is knowing you get home safe.”

“Oh,” Alit laughs, and it almost sounds nervous. “Thanks.”

“Do you ride your bike everywhere?” Durbe asks, reversing out of his parking space.

“Yeah. Unless my friends are driving.”

“Can’t you get your friends to drop you off? I can drive you home.”

“That’ll just make trouble for them, I’d rather no--”

“I’m sure they don’t like the idea of you riding your bike at night either.”

“Well, Yuma’s also out of the country right now. He froze his degree to go to America for a semester.”

Wait. _Yuma?_

“Yuma’s your roommate?” Durbe tries to keep the bite out of his tongue, but it’s hard when so many things suddenly make sense.

“Yeah. He’s really cool, and his sister lent him her old motorcycle so maybe when he gets back he’ll be able to give me rides, but until then--”

Durbe tunes him out, trying not to grip his poor steering wheel. A _semester?_ Was Nasch even going to tell him that this trip was gonna be for more than a month? More than two months? A _whole semester?_ This isn’t even about his stupid crush anymore, the one he tried to throw in the dumpster behind the BARian all those weeks and weeks ago when Yuma started dating Nasch to begin with, it’s about--

He doesn’t know.

It’s the principle of the thing.

That’s what it is.

“Which building?” Durbe asks, pulling into the university campus.

“Er, turn left? And then the left after that, and the building is the bricked one next to the library.”

Durbe parks the car next to the right building as Alit steps out and gets his bicycle out. Before Alit leaves, he shoots a wide smile at Durbe.

“Thanks a lot! I promise I’ll find a better way to get to work until Yuma gets back!”

When the doors of his dorm shut behind him, Durbe comes to the horrifying realization that… Yuma’s eighteen too.

\+ + + + +

It’s four in the morning by the time Durbe gets back to his apartment, locking the door behind him and dropping the keys to the floor because his hands are shaking so much. He doesn’t bother picking them up, dropping his bag to the floor too and telling himself he’ll remember in the morning.

He’s hungry, but his appetite has left him because Alit was hired on the terms that he was Yuma’s friend and Nasch just wanted to help and that’s why he kept _not listening_ to Durbe whenever he said it was a _bad idea_. And maybe Durbe was wrong, maybe Alit’s been helping their business a lot with his charm, and his ideas (no matter how terrible they are most of the time), and his permanently cheerful aura.

And, yeah, Durbe doesn’t regret hiring him one bit, actually, but.

But.

He left his answering machine unplugged since the day Alit last stayed over, so there’s no blinking red light at him when he walks past the phone, into the kitchen, but the thought that Nasch probably called again today hits him anyway and his shoulders tense up. Nasch, who’s across the fucking ocean in America cavorting around with an _eighteen year old_. Nasch, who dropped the business on his shoulders because he fell hard for some random kid whose smiles are like sunshine and has only just started university, just started his life, and--

Nasch never planned on settling down, but with a business and an actual bona fide house in the suburbs and a boyfriend, he sure does look it, and maybe this is the one, maybe Yuma’s the one who’s gonna turn that upside down and make him (but that’s impossible, they’re at different stages, this is stupid).

He picks up the phone, the old phone that isn’t wireless because he never bothered to upgrade, and dials Nasch’s cell phone number, the one for his international phone that Durbe memorized because Nasch gave him his number in the least romantic way possible and he stared at his scrawl for hours the night Nasch took off until it burned into his retinas.

One ring. He hasn’t checked his Facebook in a while for a reason. Two rings. Hasn’t bothered looking up his Instagram either. Three rings. Last time he did, Nasch had changed his profile pictures to pictures of him with Yuma and--

He slams the phone on the edge of the kitchen counter and the whole thing unhooks from the wall, clattering to the floor as the phone cracks neatly in two.

He doesn’t feel any better.

And now he needs to upgrade his phone.

\+ + + + +

“You look dead, boss,” Vector notes when Durbe walks up to the BARian and begins to unlock the door so they can go inside.

“Maybe I am,” Durbe responds, pushing the door open. “Have you ever thought of that?”

“Yeah, but then you’d be on the ground, not moving and such. Maybe with some blood around or someth--”

“Please stop.”

Vector cackles.

Merag’s the next to come in, immediately knocking Vector over the head with her oversized bag for who knows why and taking him aside for who knows what. They go to the back somewhere and leave Durbe to open his notebook and take his usual seat behind the bar as he takes stock of what they’ve got.

“Sulking doesn’t suit you.”

Durbe looks up, not even having noticed Mizael walk in. “I’m not sulking.”

“Uhm, I’m pretty sure you are,” Mizael says. “But okay, if you don’t want to talk about it--”

“If you don’t want to talk about Kaito, then I’m not talking about this, so you can stop your guilt trip right now.”

Mizael huffs. “Fine then, I was only trying to help,” he says, stomping away and flipping his hair over his shoulder.

Gilag walks in, and Durbe notices right away if only because he knocked his head against the top of the doorframe like usual. He greets Durbe before getting down to his own duties.

Last, as usual, and Durbe can almost hear the creaking wheels of that stupid red bicycle as it rolls into the parking lot, Alit bursts through the doors.

“Hey Durbe!” he greets, cheery as usual because it’s like he never has a bad day ever.

“Hey,” Durbe duly greets back. “You biked here again?”

“Yeah, haven’t really found a better way yet,” Alit admits, rubbing the back of his head. “But, it’s good exercise!”

“I’m sure it is.”

Alit joins him behind the counter, unzipping his hoodie and throwing it on a free stool. “So, what do you always work on back here?” he asks, peering over Durbe’s shoulder to look at the notebook.

“Just, stock… finance info, stuff,” Durbe says with a yawn. “I dunno. Behind the scenes stuff that you guys don’t have to worry about.”

“Were you up all night working on this stuff?” Alit asks, sounding concerned as he flips through the notebook, reaching over Durbe to do so.

Hmm… maybe if they changed up their uniforms here a bit, Alit could show off his arms a bit more. They were really defined. Customers would go for-- Durbe reminds himself that while Alit is officially legal, it’s probably morally wrong to use his body to get more tips.

Yeah.

Morally wrong.

“I was up all night, but not for this,” Durbe says, flipping the notebook shut. “Anyway, go get ready, we open soon.”

“Aight, boss.”

Alit claps a hand onto his shoulder and grins at him as he walks away, letting his hand trail across Durbe’s shoulders as he leaves.

Vector and Merag finally come back from who knows where, looking disheveled, and Durbe reminds them too that they’re opening soon and to please look presentable by the time they do.

\+ + + + +

That night, Durbe witnesses three things.

He witnesses Mizael, serving Kaito and his two friends, sitting down and talking with them, bringing them drinks and food, and actually smiling genuinely which happens once in a blue never. And then he watches as Mizael is taken away at the end of the night, hand in Kaito’s, as they leave wearing identical shy smiles, and his friends laugh.

He witnesses the looks that Vector and Merag exchange with each other across the floor, sly and silly, teasing and wanton, jealous and smug. He sees all of them, and wonders what Nasch will think of it all once he gets back from paradise in the States and realizes he has a life outside of Yuma (because he never approved of Vector, even when Durbe vouched for him, and he definitely won’t now).

And then… then Durbe witnesses Alit.

Alit, who flirts with all of his guests with an easy smile, who takes numbers written on napkins, his wrists when his palms are taken, only to throw them out or wash them off when they leave. And every time he does, he glances over to Durbe and smiles sheepishly at him, bites his lip, and goes to serve the new guests.

“Either get over Nasch, or reject him and wipe the cute little smile from his face,” Vector whispers into Durbe’s ear when he comes around the bar again to pick up drinks for table number two.

“Shut up,” Durbe says, but on the inside he’s panicking because those are the looks he remembers Yuma giving Nasch, right before they started dating.

He feels so _dense_ , because he’s been so focused on Nasch that he never noticed, never realized. Because Alit is Alit, and he’s in university, and he’s eighteen, and he’s Yuma’s roommate for _god’s sake_ , and he’s… cute, and nice, and funny, and all of those typical romcom protagonist things, but. No.

“You know those are your only two options,” Vector says, smirking as he carries two trays expertly in his hands. “So… whatcha gonna pick?”

\+ + + + +

When he drives Alit home that night, Durbe doesn’t respond to any of his attempts at conversation. Because he doesn’t know what to do.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things go south

It’s five in the morning and Durbe is drunk over his tiny breakfast bar. An empty bottle of wine sits near his hand as he rests his forehead on the cool countertop. His new fancy wireless phone sits next to him, and so far it has rung a total of five headache-inducingly loud times, and it’s then that Durbe remembers he never reconnected his answering machine and that unless declines it, it’s going to keep going.

He picks up.

“Hello?” he slurs.

“Durbe? Hey! I didn’t know if you’d answer, I’m kinda glad you did!”

“Nasch?”

“Hey!”

“Oh my god it’s five in the morning, do you not timezone?” Durbe asks.

“Did I wake you up?” Nasch laughs, mistaking Durbe’s slurs for tiredness. “Sorry! I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

“You don’t think often. That’s why I’m here,” Durbe says, lifting himself upright. “What did you need?”

“Some… advice.”

“For what?”

Durbe’s getting a headache. The sun is already starting to peek through the blinds, running bright lines all over his kitchen. They’re blinding. But… he has a feeling that whatever Nasch has in store will have him wishing alcohol turned him deaf instead.

“I think… I’m in love.”

Durbe wishes he was deaf.

“I mean, Yuma is just so great. We’re living in this apartment about a ten minute walk from his campus and whenever he’s not in his classes, we’re always… I don’t know, it’s always good with him. Nice, comfy, I don’t know, it’s just really great? And… I’m really happy with him.”

“How do you know you still will be when you get back to your life here?” Durbe asks, and he prays the edge in his voice is lost in the slurs.

“I… don’t. But, everything feels so right with him, you know?”

Durbe does know. Not that Nasch ever reciprocated on that. “Sure I do. It’s wonderful… until it’s not.”

“You think it’ll fall apart?”

“You never know. Your trip is like the honeymoon phase. Come back here, work full-time, live the life you carved for yourself and try to fit Yuma into it. Can you do it?”

“I’ll make it work. I’m serious about this.”

“Is he?”

“He already said it.”

“I love you?” And Durbe wishes that was under different circumstances, but it’s not, and it hurts.

“Yeah.”

“He’s eighteen. He doesn’t know what love is.”

“Maybe not, but… I do. And I want to try.”

“Then try.”

Durbe can hear the smile in Nasch’s voice and he feels something shatter. “Thanks, Durbe. I knew talking to you would help!”

“You’re welcome. Now let me sleep, I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Alright. Goodnight!”

“Goodnight.”

When Durbe hangs up, he pours himself another glass of wine, hoping it might fill the hollow part inside of him that thought hope still existed.

\+ + + + +

Durbe sleeps in, because he can, because they don’t open till the evening and he doesn’t give a fuck. His dreams are better than facing reality and the fact that Nasch fell in love with someone who isn’t him.

Vector and Merag are making out against the back wall of the BARian when he pulls in at six o’clock. The sound of his stuttering engine shocks them enough to part and Merag’s in the middle of smoothing down her hair when Durbe finally gets out of his van.

“Please save that for after your shifts,” he says, digging his keys out of his pocket. “And no, I’m not telling Nasch,” he adds when Merag opens her mouth to ask the same question as usual.

“Thank you, Durbe,” she says, and she sounds like she means it this time.

“You get a call from Nasch last night too?”

“No, you did?” she asks as he unlocks the door.

“Yeah,” Durbe grimaces. “It was… enlightening.”

“He… told you,” Merag says, and her eyes are pitying. “I’m so sorry.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” Durbe says, stepping inside. “Can we not--”

“I still don’t know why you’re in love with an asshole like him,” Vector interrupts, lips curling in disgust. “He’s the worst. He still doesn’t like me, and I haven’t even done anything.”

“You slept with his sister,” Durbe deadpans. “That’s all you really needed to do.”

“Well I’m sorry Merag is so hot, then. Jeez. Fucking asshole. I hope he never comes back.”

“Vector!” Merag reprimands, but it falls on deaf ears.

“It’d be better for all of us if they just stayed in America,” Vector mutters.

“If it makes you feel better,” Merag starts, putting a hand on Durbe’s shoulder, “he hasn’t called me once. And I’m his sister.”

“I wish it was the other way around,” Durbe says, throwing his bag onto the bar. “He’s… he’s in _love_. As if Yuma even knows what that fucking _means_. And for some reason I’m the confidante who hears every step of it because he needs someone to hold his hand like a child.”

Merag’s already putting the chairs down from the tables and Vector lifts himself up to sit on the countertop. “Like I said, he’s an asshole. He doesn’t know when he’s hurting you, and if he does, he lays it on extra thick.”

“You’re just bitter because you have to hide your relationship with Merag when he’s around.”

“Well, you’re bitter because of an unrequited crush. Who’s teenage angsting now?”

“Guy, please,” Merag interrupts. “He’s hurt all of us, okay? Jeez. It doesn’t need to be a contest. Let’s all just agree on the fact that my brother’s a huge douche,” she says.

“I’ll drink to that,” Durbe mutters, and Vector holds his hand out, miming a drink.

As they go through the motions of getting ready for the night, Gilag walks in with two grocery bags full of stock for the fridge, and head to his workstation behind the bar with the food after greeting them all. Alit is, surprisingly, next.

“Mizael’s not here yet?” he asks, surprised, before letting out a low whistle. “Cool then! First day I’m not the last to arrive!”

Durbe congratulates him, along with Gilag and Merag. Vector just rolls his eyes.

“What if Mizael’s still with Kaito?” he asks, and Merag grins.

“Think they slept together?” she asks.

“If they didn’t, I’ll be disappointed. Maybe I should give him tips for next time…”

“I hope they used protection. What if they just stayed up all night, just _talking_?”

“Mizael said Kaito used to study Astronomy at Heartland U,” Vector says. “Maybe they went stargazing…”

“Oh my god, they have stuff in _common_!” Merag wails excitedly.

“Who has stuff in common?” And it’s Mizael, walking into the BARian.

“How’d it go with Kaito last night?” Merag asks immediately.

Mizael tries to hide his smile, utterly failing in the process. “It was… really good.”

“Did you guys have sex?” Vector asks, blunt as usual.

A bright blush blossoms on Mizael’s cheeks. “Ah, no. But, we went for late night decaf and talked and roamed downtown, and then he dropped me off home and it was… good. Really good.”

Merag runs up to him in her heels and grabs his hands. “I’m so happy for you!”

Mizael lets out a nervous laugh. “I’m happy too.”

“Is he coming tonight?” Alit asks from his spot with Durbe at the bar.

“Not tonight. But. He will tomorrow.”

“That’s awesome, Miza!” Alit congratulates, shooting him a thumbs up.

“Ahaha, thanks!” Mizael tucks a strand of hair behind his ear and glances toward Durbe. “So, anything left for me to do before we open, or?”

Durbe shakes his head. “Nah, we got it covered. Just go get changed. Glad you enjoyed your night.”

At least one of them did.

\+ + + + +

“Hey, did I… do something wrong?” Alit asks, halfway through the drive home (and Durbe feels like a jerk, but he still doesn’t know what to do when Nasch keeps opening old wounds).

“No, of course you didn’t. I’m just tired. I’m sure you are you too,” Durbe responds, attempting to be casual.

“Yeah, I am, ahaha,” Alit asnwers. “Uhm, thank you, by the way.”

“For what?”

“Everything. I don’t know. For driving me home every night? Are you sure you don’t want gas money?”

“I’m sure.”

“Ah… okay. But, one of these days let me treat you to something. As a thank you.”

Durbe knows Alit is trying to push getting one-on-one time with him, push his crush to the edge because he doesn’t want to admit it (and he knows how that feels, he knows it too well, and he pushed it to the point of becoming business partners because it meant staying together, being together, being attached, and he stupidly equated it to a ring, but...). “Sure. If you insist.”

He doesn’t want to drag this out. He doesn’t want to amuse it. But he can’t say no when Alit words it like that.

“Yeah!” Alit says, and his nervousness disappears with the way his whole face lights up. “I do.”

Durbe tries to smile back as he pulls into the same spot, same area, and Alit jumps out of the car and retrieves his bike from the back.

“Goodnight Durbe!”

“Goodnight, Alit.”

\+ + + + +

Two weeks pass, and Durbe’s D-Gazer doesn’t vibrate, and his house phone never rings (unless it’s Nasch, who he’s begun to ignore again because fuck him, fuck Yuma, fuck all of it).

Vector still kisses Merag in the back of the bar when they think no one’s watching, Mizael has been on three dates and already has plans for a fourth one, Gilag still sings along to Sanagi songs while he’s preparing food, and Alit…

Alit still smiles, ends the night with numbers over his hands and wrists, still pushes the idea for an open mic night (and Merag is warming up to the idea, and so is everyone else, because Nasch has been away too long and the title of boss has long since been deferred to Durbe). He’s full of enthusiastic energy that never fades, wit that never dulls.

He’s perfect. A beautiful cinnamon roll, too good, too pure for this world.

Durbe doesn’t deserve his affection.

“Haven’t figured out what to do with him yet?” Vector asks with a smirk one night as Durbe unlocks the door to the BARian, as usual.

“Do with who?” Durbe asks, playing dumb.

“Oh come on, you know. Alit. What are you gonna do with the BARian’s baby?”

“Can we not? I’m exhausted,” Durbe says, sitting down behind the bar.

“Except can we?” Vector asks, lifting himself up onto the counter. “Because it’s been painfully obvious since we hired him that he likes you and you’re pretty much leading him on at this point,” Vector says with a laugh. “As much as I’d like to see it all crash and burn, I’d rather not have him turn into you.”

“What does that mean?”

Vector knocks him on the head a couple times. “Oh? Hear that? It’s _hollow_ like your heart became when you realized Nasch would never love you after years of pathetic pining.”

“Fuck off.”

“It’s tru~e,” Vector sings. “Just… I don’t know. Do something.”

“He’s right, Durbe,” Merag says as she walks in, heels clicking against the floor. “You really need to do something.”

“You guys suck.”

“Know what sucks more? Being led on,” Merag says, and Durbe has to agree (because he’s been there, for years, and it was absolute hell).

“The sooner you reject him, the easier he’ll take it. And if you decide to date him… well, all the better? You know?” Merag asks, and Vector slides off the counter to greet her with a kiss. She smiles at him and Durbe wonders how grossly romantic they could be (because as much as he’s always vouched for Vector, he’s still a bit of a sleaze).

“Hey babe, so, off-topic but you wanna do a movie Friday? Before work?”

Merag’s smile grows. “Sounds good.”

“And… can I sleep over?”

“Of course!”

Durbe wants to throw his notebook at them.

Merag peers over Vector’s shoulder at Durbe. “You still won’t tell my brother, right?”

“Of course not. Especially when he’s being a fucking moron.”

“Thank you,” she says, smiling up at Vector again. “Really.”

\+ + + + +

At some point during the night, Alit starts telling girls that he’s taken. Instead of numbers on his palms, they start congratulating him and buying him drinks that he’s too polite to turn down. Durbe doesn’t notice until Vector’s at his side, pointing out an Alit who looks like he’s about to drop a tray of Jolly Rancher shots.

Durbe sighs.

“He’s been telling girls he’s taken,” Vector elaborates with a smirk.

“But he’s not taken.”

“His heart is.”

Durbe rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“You should probably do something. Unless you want me to?”

“And what would you do?”

“Kiss him in the middle of the floor. Well, if I was you. But since I’m not a lamppost…”

“Vector.”

“Send him home. Drive him, if you have to. I can hold things down here.”

Durbe looks up at Vector in disbelief. “You? Hold down a whole bar?”

Vector shrugs. “Seems easy, all you do is sit here writing numbers down and mix drinks. I can do that.”

Durbe can’t really argue with that. “Okay. Fine. But…”

“No one tells Nasch.”

“Yeah.”

“Good luck, heartbreaker.”

“Fuck off.”

\+ + + + +

Dragging Alit out of the bar involves a lot of catcalls and whistles, but Durbe pays them no mind when he’s too busy helping the kid stand upright, holding his hands at the wrists.

“You shouldn’t drink more than you can handle on-shift,” Durbe says, helping Alit into his people-mover. “Please never do that again.” He reaches over to click his seat belt when he feels Alit’s hands land on his shoulders.

“Is your heart taken too?”

Durbe doesn’t answer, instead setting him upright again and shutting the door.

When he climbs into the drivers seat, Alit is half-asleep.

“How much did you have?”

“Uh, six shots? And a beer. And… did you know White Russians taste good? They taste good.”

“They do,” Durbe agrees, stuck between chuckling and sighing. He turns the engine on and shifts gears into Drive, but his foot is on the brakes and he doesn’t want to go back to his dorm, be in charge of getting him into his building, getting lost in the floors of a dorm building that didn’t exist when he went to Heartland University… “Have you ever gotten drunk before?”

“No?”

“Do you have any painkillers? Ginger ale?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Durbe sighs. “Do you have class tomorrow?”

“No…”

“Okay, you’re staying over. Unless you want a hangover?”

Alit doesn’t respond, and Durbe can’t tell whether the bright blush in his cheeks that he can see even in the darkness is from the alcohol or the offer.

“O-okay. Thank you.”

The drive is quiet except for the crackle of the radio that half-picks up the Top 40 at stoplights. The roads at quiet and it’s one in the morning and Durbe doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore, because he doesn’t like Alit the way he wants him to, and he’s still angry over Nasch, and leaving the bar in Vector’s hands might have not been the best idea (it’s not Nasch-approved, and that made it a good idea, so…).

Durbe helps him up the stairs, as he’s done so many times, but this time Alit’s heavier, leaning on him more, and whether that’s on purpose or not, he’s not even sure anymore.

Alit falls onto the couch.

“I’m gonna get you some water.”

“Okay.”

When Durbe gets back, he kneels down and hands Alit the glass. “Drink up, you’ll feel better.”

Alit’s fingers brush his, but they don’t quite grasp it and a moment later he’s leaning in, lips on Durbe’s (and it feels warm, and nice, but--)

Durbe pulls back, head spinning, and the sudden movement has Alit falling into him awkwardly.

“Ah… I’m sorry, I--”

“It’s fine,” Durbe says, but it’s not and his mouth is dry. “Drink that. Goodnight, Alit.”

“... Goodnight, Durbe.”

His footsteps echo through the apartment as he wonders how to face the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I lied, I can't finish this in a 3-shot, so I'm making it a total of 5 chapters! two more to go, guys ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Review if you liked it :D and look forward to the next chap :)


End file.
